Robin Keller EDC 102H September 24, 2010 High School Education I had been given a fair warning. My counselor, my junior year English teacher, my older brother and other students had all warned me about the teacher I received for my senior English class, Mrs. Rose. As an A student, hearing this bad news from other A students, I was intimidated to say in the least. She is an experienced teacher who, despite her age, wears stilettos powerfully around the school. She wears pointy brooches, echoing the pointy features in her face. She is a woman with a long enough stare to completely bewilder anybody. They had told me about the intimidation she causes, the frustration she makes, and the harsh grades she hands out. Everyone gave me their sympathy when they discovered she would soon be my teacher. I sailed smoothly throughout my entire high school career. Earning almost all A’s and nothing lower than a B on any report card, I was always on the honor roll. I enjoyed all of my classes. My strengths were in math and science and my weakest academic area was English. I always had good luck with the teachers I was assigned. Outside of the classroom, I was involved in sports all year round. I played soccer in the fall, ran indoor track in the winter, and played doubles on the tennis team. My English class during my junior year was the one of the best classes I have ever had. My teacher, Mrs. Simonelli motivated me to read more than I’ve ever read before. She was approachable, and only did what was in the best interest of her students. She taught us that literature has many different possible interpretations, rather than one set meaning. I tackled each of her papers with a confidence that was reinforced with the good grades I received on them. In her class, like most my others junior year, I received an A. Mrs. Simonelli’s classroom was full of student’s projects, literature posters, and decorations. This may have contributed to my initial feeling of terror when I walked in to the bare, white cement walls of Mrs. Rose’s classroom. Everything in the room was cold, hard, and quiet. My fellow classmates all sat in silence awaiting the arrival of the dreaded teacher. The silence remained in her classroom throughout the entire year. Through the entire 120 minutes of class, everyone avoided her piercing eye contact in order to keep from being called on. Very rarely would anyone raise his or her hand, in fear of her ridicule. My first assignment in Mrs. Rose’s class was to read Beowulf and to later write a paper on the idea of heroism. It had always been nerve wrecking to write the first paper for a new teacher, but I felt an extra pang of nervousness at the idea of turning this paper in to Mrs. Rose. I wrote the paper in the style that I felt confident with after my success in Mrs. Simonelli’s class. I manipulated my style only slightly in order to fit Mrs. Rose’s guidelines. I wasn’t extremely concerned about failing the seemingly simple assignment. A few weeks after turning in my paper Mrs. Rose finally passed them back. I flipped through the pages, looking for my letter grade. Nowhere on it did it tell me what I had received. She then announced that none of our papers were worth a grade. She went on to grant us one more try at the assignment. I sat in shock that my paper was not even worth an F. With my confidence shattered, I stared at the assignment. I read her comments over and over. She had scribbled up and down the margin that most of what I had written was wrong. I had been specifically taught in the previous year that your interpretation of literature cannot be wrong. Puzzled, I took in a deep breath, realizing I had been given another chance. Still, I did not understand how I could do so well the previous years in high school yet do so poorly with this new teacher. Receiving this ungraded paper left me to question the way I have always written and myself as an overall student. Though I struggled, I wrote in what I felt was the happy medium between my junior year writing style and what I thought Mrs. Rose wanted. With hope of a better grade, I turned in what I believed was a much improved second paper. I grew even more impatient as I waited for the return of my second paper. Both anxious and afraid, I flipped through my paper until I saw a letter grade along with some comments. I had received a D on my rewrite, surprisingly a high grade compared to the majority of the class. As someone who had always received good grades, I was extremely disappointed with this low grade. Over the year my grades slowly improved. I learned what Mrs. Rose was looking for in my writing. Receiving an ungraded paper led to me question my writing and therefore rearrange my style and find what type of writing will work for me in her course. Through my experience with Mrs. Rose, I have found a balance in my writing. Not only did I learn more about my writing but I learned about myself as a student. From the shock of not getting the grades I was used to, I learned that as a student I must be able to adapt. I learned that not everything that comes my way will follow and easily transition from my previous experiences. Whether I have a new difficult teacher or a professor using a teaching style I am unfamiliar with, I am more prepared now to learn in different situations.
EDC 102H
September 24, 2010
High School Education
I had been given a fair warning. My counselor, my junior year English teacher, my older brother and other students had all warned me about the teacher I received for my senior English class, Mrs. Rose. As an A student, hearing this bad news from other A students, I was intimidated to say in the least. She is an experienced teacher who, despite her age, wears stilettos powerfully around the school. She wears pointy brooches, echoing the pointy features in her face. She is a woman with a long enough stare to completely bewilder anybody. They had told me about the intimidation she causes, the frustration she makes, and the harsh grades she hands out. Everyone gave me their sympathy when they discovered she would soon be my teacher.
I sailed smoothly throughout my entire high school career. Earning almost all A’s and nothing lower than a B on any report card, I was always on the honor roll. I enjoyed all of my classes. My strengths were in math and science and my weakest academic area was English. I always had good luck with the teachers I was assigned. Outside of the classroom, I was involved in sports all year round. I played soccer in the fall, ran indoor track in the winter, and played doubles on the tennis team.
My English class during my junior year was the one of the best classes I have ever had. My teacher, Mrs. Simonelli motivated me to read more than I’ve ever read before. She was approachable, and only did what was in the best interest of her students. She taught us that literature has many different possible interpretations, rather than one set meaning. I tackled each of her papers with a confidence that was reinforced with the good grades I received on them. In her class, like most my others junior year, I received an A.
Mrs. Simonelli’s classroom was full of student’s projects, literature posters, and decorations. This may have contributed to my initial feeling of terror when I walked in to the bare, white cement walls of Mrs. Rose’s classroom. Everything in the room was cold, hard, and quiet. My fellow classmates all sat in silence awaiting the arrival of the dreaded teacher. The silence remained in her classroom throughout the entire year. Through the entire 120 minutes of class, everyone avoided her piercing eye contact in order to keep from being called on. Very rarely would anyone raise his or her hand, in fear of her ridicule.
My first assignment in Mrs. Rose’s class was to read Beowulf and to later write a paper on the idea of heroism. It had always been nerve wrecking to write the first paper for a new teacher, but I felt an extra pang of nervousness at the idea of turning this paper in to Mrs. Rose. I wrote the paper in the style that I felt confident with after my success in Mrs. Simonelli’s class. I manipulated my style only slightly in order to fit Mrs. Rose’s guidelines. I wasn’t extremely concerned about failing the seemingly simple assignment.
A few weeks after turning in my paper Mrs. Rose finally passed them back. I flipped through the pages, looking for my letter grade. Nowhere on it did it tell me what I had received. She then announced that none of our papers were worth a grade. She went on to grant us one more try at the assignment. I sat in shock that my paper was not even worth an F.
With my confidence shattered, I stared at the assignment. I read her comments over and over. She had scribbled up and down the margin that most of what I had written was wrong. I had been specifically taught in the previous year that your interpretation of literature cannot be wrong. Puzzled, I took in a deep breath, realizing I had been given another chance. Still, I did not understand how I could do so well the previous years in high school yet do so poorly with this new teacher. Receiving this ungraded paper left me to question the way I have always written and myself as an overall student.
Though I struggled, I wrote in what I felt was the happy medium between my junior year writing style and what I thought Mrs. Rose wanted. With hope of a better grade, I turned in what I believed was a much improved second paper. I grew even more impatient as I waited for the return of my second paper. Both anxious and afraid, I flipped through my paper until I saw a letter grade along with some comments. I had received a D on my rewrite, surprisingly a high grade compared to the majority of the class.
As someone who had always received good grades, I was extremely disappointed with this low grade. Over the year my grades slowly improved. I learned what Mrs. Rose was looking for in my writing. Receiving an ungraded paper led to me question my writing and therefore rearrange my style and find what type of writing will work for me in her course. Through my experience with Mrs. Rose, I have found a balance in my writing. Not only did I learn more about my writing but I learned about myself as a student. From the shock of not getting the grades I was used to, I learned that as a student I must be able to adapt. I learned that not everything that comes my way will follow and easily transition from my previous experiences. Whether I have a new difficult teacher or a professor using a teaching style I am unfamiliar with, I am more prepared now to learn in different situations.